We Are The Few

by Miranda Stork

  Harris sighed, leaning back on his heels as he crouched beside her. She realised his hand was on her head, tenderly stroking her hair like a mother would to soothe a child. “You were shouting in your sleep,” he explained. “You kept shouting for your brother, then you started sobbing. I tried to wake you up.”

  His soft tone of voice, the gentle brush of his fingers through her hair, and the still-vivid recollection of her nightmare from that day only six months earlier were all too much, and Freda cursed herself even as she felt her face crumple. A single, broken sob forced its way out from her chest, and she bit the next one back angrily. She wasn’t about to stop blubbering in front of anyone, least of all Harris. “Th-thank you,” she gulped, trying to steady her voice. Tears pricked at her eyeballs, making them feel sore. “I’m glad you woke me up.”

  Harris took a moment to study her face, never ceasing his massage on her skull. “Hey, don’t worry about being upset in front of me.” He gave a sad smile that met his eyes, but only for an instant before it vanished again. “You’re the toughest woman I’ve ever met, Freda. I’m not going to think less of you or something because you cry. Everyone cries. Hell, I cry. I cried when I saw a three-legged puppy, once. I wasn’t happy until we got it settled with one of the farming families near the headquarters.”

  “Rubbish,” Freda scoffed, her voice still wavering. The weight of her sorrow still threatened to break the barriers at any moment. She gave a sniff, hoping it would hold it back.

  “It’s not rubbish,” Harris retorted firmly. He shifted his weight, leaning against the bed, the mattress dipping as he rested his elbow on the edge. Freda almost pulled back as the movement brought him closer to her face, but she stayed where she was, her fingers curling tighter around the top of the covers. “Whatever it was you dreamt about, it must have been something pretty awful.”

  Although she wasn’t sure why she did it, Freda blurted out, “It was the day Gareth and I were supposed to leave.” Her lip wobbled as the dam burst, and this time she couldn’t stop the tears breaking free and spilling over her skin. They were as relentless as the rain from her dream, and she could feel them splashing onto the pillow, wet little patches of her grief. The pillow smelled of mould, but she barely noticed. Another heaving sob wrenched itself from her throat, and she broke down completely, dissolving into a soggy mess of snot and tears. “H-he wasn’t there. A-and the officers a-and the doctor came to get me, a-and take me back.” Not knowing what else to use, Freda lifted her arm and wiped it under her nose, sniffing loudly. She might have winced at the sound had she not been caught up in her heartache. “T-They took me b-back, Harris.” Her voice shook with every syllable, almost becoming a tangled mess of sounds rather than words. “H-he didn’t w-wait for me. A-and they w-wouldn’t let me go. And now I d-don’t know w-where he is, or even if h-he’s alive!” Her last words ended on a keening howl, and her cries overtook her, her shoulders shaking as though she was cold.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Harris’ deep, tender tone was balm to her wounds, but it only made Freda’s cries come faster as he pulled her upright in the bed. She allowed herself to be tugged into his arms, and he wrapped them tightly around her, squeezing her into his bare chest. Her mouth fell open as she allowed the tears to fall, not caring that saliva leaked on Harris’ shoulder as he rubbed her back and made shushing noises. She hadn’t realised how much weight she had carried with her from the last six months. All of it bundled up into a nasty little ball of fear for Gareth, and if he was even alive. She had struggled herself when she went through the Badlands. But she had searched them as far as she dared—as far as she knew someone with Gareth’s disability could go, but she hadn’t found him. In the deepest, darkest pit of her mind, Freda feared that she would never find him. That he was already dead, and she was chasing nothing but shadows.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her chest heaving as she took in a shuddering breath of air, her head feeling light. The sobs calmed, leaving her hiccupping for breaths as Freda sniffed and pulled back from Harris’ embrace. He reluctantly released her and let her sit back on the bed, but he kept his hands either side of her hips. “I didn’t mean to break down like that.” She looked down at her left hand, studying the back of it in the half-darkness, her robotic limb taken off for the night and laid under the bed.

  “There’s no need to apologise,” Harris assured her, bending down so he could crouch in closer and look up at her face. When she refused to glance up at him, he placed a long finger under her chin, forcing her head up. “Hey, come on. You don’t have to be sorry.” He didn’t smile, but his eyes never left hers. “I understand what it’s like to lose your family, too.”

  Freda didn’t miss the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed nervously, and she took in another calming breath, her shoulders aching from the shuddering movements they had made a few moments before. “You do?” she prodded gently, her voice still sounding broken as she whispered in the darkness.”

  “Yes.” There was a scrape, and then a thud, as Harris sank down onto the floor to a seating position, resting his back against the bed and staring across at the curtain-covered window. A solar street-light outside lit a soft orange glow behind the thin fabric, casting long shadows over the floorboards. “I told you about my dad being a captain in the army, right?”

  “Yeah. And how you were all in the army bunker until you were ten. Then they went and found a farm, right?”

  Harris nodded slowly, staring off into the distance. “That’s right. But I didn’t tell you what happened after then.”

  Something painful passed over his expression for a fleeting moment. It was as though the ten-year-old Harris had been brought back in that second, banished again before the nightmare—whatever it was—could be relived. She put her hand out to touch his shoulder, pressing it against his warm skin despite the flinch he gave when she brushed him. “What happened?”

  “My parents made a good job of the farm, at first. Traders came from the nearby settlements, and my parents would sell them whatever crops they could manage after keeping some back for ourselves. My mum and dad actually seemed at peace, something they never seemed to be all those years in the bunker.” Harris’ lips curved in a flash of a smile. “But then bandits showed up. They were too close to the farm, but my dad refused to move.” A deep sigh. “He was always like that. Tenacious. Never backing down from anything. It works when you’ve got the upper-hand, but…not when you’re a small family living outside the safety of a settlement. Then, one night, they attacked.” Harris folded his arms over his chest in a protective motion, swallowing again. He chewed at his lower lip, nodding to himself.

  Freda’s hand squeezed his shoulder again in what she hoped was a comforting manner. The dark shapes in the room around them came more into focus as her eyes adjusted, and the bed squeaked as she scrabbled across it. Sliding herself down with as much grace as she could manage, she sank to the floor beside Harris. Dressed only in her camisole top and shorts, she nearly jumped as she brushed Harris’ bare leg stretched out in front of him. Almost not daring to look, relief flooded Freda as she caught sight of the grey boxer shorts he wore, and she eased herself down awkwardly. “The bandits?”

  “Yes. They, uh…” Harris’ breathing sped up, and he licked his lips, still gazing down at the panelling of the floorboards. “They killed my parents. My two sisters and I, we only escaped because we hid in the shed outside. They never thought to look there. But we could hear the screams. My mum sobbing as they stabbed my dad to death.” Tears welled in Harris’ eyes, glittering in the gentle orange light cast from outside.

  Freda’s heart ached at the sight, and she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to grab one of his hands as he let them fall from his chest, latching his fingers with hers. He squeezed her hand as though it gave him courage to finish his story, and she pressed back tightly. “That’s horrible,” she rasped. “That’s…it’s horrible. Losing your mum and dad like that. I can’t imagine it.”

&n
bsp; “It’s still painful,” Harris replied in a grating voice. His hand squeezed harder. “I was fourteen, but my sisters were only eight and six. I had to pretend the screams and cries came from the bandits, not from mum and dad. For four whole hours, we hid in that bloody shed, and I had to sit there listening, pretending that it wasn’t happening.” He gritted his teeth as the tears rolled down his cheeks, his grief mixed with fury. “They finally left, but I wouldn’t let Esme and Rose back in the house. I told them I would check on mum and dad. When I went in the kitchen, they…they…” Harris broke off, his whole frame shuddering as he gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw clicked, his shoulders trembling.

  “You don’t have to say anymore,” Freda broke in, rubbing the back of his hand, still threaded into hers in a death-grip. “What happened after then?”

  Harris blew out a deep breath, sniffing and wiping the palm of his other hand across his face. “I told them that mum and dad had killed the bandits, but they had to bury them. So we had to go and stay with one of our neighbours in the settlement for a while. I packed some bits, and we set off a couple of miles down the road. I never looked back, not once. It hurt too much.”

  Freda was silent, her eyes tracing Harris’ face as she tried to think of the right words to say. Her own eyes still ached from her earlier tears. “Were you okay there?”

  “With Mrs Bateby? Yeah, she was a lovely woman. She always came by every week to see my parents, always stopped for a chat. I knew she would take us in. She took one look at us and dragged us straight into her house.” Harris let out a strange sob that was somewhere between pain and laughter, and he wiped at his cheeks again. “She was like a second mum to us. Esme and Rose still live with her up in Fountains, a town they built up near the abbey there. But I never forgot about what happened to my parents. I remembered the bandits, too. Their leader, he had this voice you could never forget. Like he spoke through a cheese-grater, at a pitch that made your skin crawl. So when I was old enough, I went to find him.”

  “On your own?”

  “No. I found a few others that knew my story. They had similar ones to tell. We got weapons, bullets, and headed off to the camp. I didn’t expect to come back alive. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was firing a bullet straight into the murdering face of the bastard who took my mum and dad from me and my sisters. It was a tough fight, but we cleared the bandits before they even knew what was happening. It was a slaughter.”

  The coldness of Harris’ voice made Freda shiver, but she asked, “What happened to the leader?”

  “I killed him. I knocked him to the ground, pointed my shotgun in his face, and pulled the trigger before he could speak. No last words. Just…bang. And he was dead.” Harris’ voice dropped as he sighed again, letting his head fall to his chest. A peal of laughter echoed up from outside in the street, drifting through the thin glass of the window, but it was swallowed up by the hazy darkness of the room. There were always a few late-night drinkers in the centre of the city. “I expected to feel better, you know? I thought killing him would somehow…make the memory less painful. That if I got revenge, I could be at peace. But it wasn’t like that. The pain was still there, and I realised I could never get rid of it.” He finally turned his head to Freda, searching her face with his eyes, his cheeks streaked with silvery highlights from his tears. “That’s when I started the Allied Vigilants. It was the only time I finally found peace—when I helped others. I swore no one would ever have to feel that again, if we got there in time. That no one would have to deal with losing a loved one in that way, on top of the rest of the shit this fucking place throws at you. And that,” he added, lifting Freda’s hand still locked in his, shaking it gently, “is why I’m going to help you find your brother, Freda. I’m not going to give up until we do. I promise you, we will find him.”

  They fell into silence, Freda rubbing slow circles on the back of Harris’ hand until she could feel him relax against the edge of the mattress. His words gave her a hope that she had thought dead, just enough of a frail thread for her to hang onto. The drunken laughter from outside died away, followed by muffled voices as they made their way home. Freda stared across at the window as Harris did, blinking at the unmoving streetlight outside. Letting his hand go with a reassuring squeeze, she grunted and stood up, making her way slowly over. Pulling back the curtain, she peered out at the street below. It was still, only a few lights showing in the dirty or smashed windows of the buildings lined on either side of the road. The solar streetlights provided most of the luminance that shone against the bricks, shivering and orange as the bulbs flickered as though they were dying. The sky was filled with clouds, as it usual, the sunny day long gone. Freda tried to think of a time when she had last seen a truly clear sky before yesterday, but it was long enough ago that the memory was fuzzy. Or perhaps it’s simply that I don’t look up at the sky often enough, she mused, the draught from the poorly-repaired window making goose-pimples appear along her arms as she rested her one hand on the windowsill.

  She glanced back over her shoulder at Harris. He remained where she had left him by the edge of the bed, still staring dead ahead in her direction to the night outside. He stared past the window, to something else that she couldn’t see. Biting her lip, Freda uttered, “I’m glad you found peace, Harris. I’m glad you’ve got the Vigilants.”

  Her voice snapped him back to the present, and Harris blinked in her direction like he had just remembered she was still there. Easing himself up from the floor carefully, his knees cracking as he stood up, he sauntered over to stand by Freda’s side, pressing his face close to the glass and gazing down at the world below. “Me too.”

  “And…thank you for your promise. It means a lot.” Her eyes felt red and prickly again. “A lot.”

  Harris crooked a lazy smile, turning back to her. “And one I intend to keep. It means a lot to me that you sat and listened to me, too. It’s a long time since I’ve told anyone that story.” He tentatively put his fingers to his face, scrubbing furiously at his cheek to rid himself of the evidence of his own grief, giving a chuckle. “I told you I cried sometimes.”

  Freda let out a dry laugh, intended more to make him feel comfortable than actually find humour in the sad words. “Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?”

  Harris’ eyes lit with something she couldn’t name, but it flashed away again as he gave a nod. “Absolutely. While we’re on the subject, would you ever join the Vigilants?”

  The question caught Freda off-guard. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been expecting the question—he had already asked back at the headquarters—but rather that it was odd timing. “Umm…” Freda fiddled nervously with the edge of the curtain, wrapping the corner around her forefinger a few times before letting it drop, now wound into a tight curl. “Maybe.” She dwelled on the idea. Would it be so bad to settle with the Allied Vigilants? I could help people. Other people who’ve lost someone, just like Harris said. The thought made her heart swell with something dangerously close to contentment, and Freda gave a small smile. “Yeah, maybe. Once I find Gareth, that is. He would probably join to. He’s, er…much better with people than me.”

  Harris let out a laugh at her as she pulled a face, and he took a step closer, leaning in confidentially. Dropping his voice to a stage whisper, he winked and replied, “That’s alright. Gareth can be the people-person; you can be the hired gun.” Harris cleared his throat, gazing into her face for a moment. The breath caught in Freda’s throat at the intensity of his stare, and she shifted anxiously as the air grew more stifling than it had been before. Before she could flinch out of the way, Harris reached up and stroked some of her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His cheeks went red as he added in a mutter, “I’ve never seen anyone so pretty fight so well.”

  Heat coiled up the back of Freda’s neck, and she swallowed against her suddenly parched throat, unable to look away from Harris’ cat-like eyes as he took a step closer. The compliment was more unexpected
than the offer to join the Vigilants. I thought he didn’t like me that much. Doesn’t he always seem so hard with me? Like he challenges me over everything? A tiny voice in the back of her head pointed out that was probably the exact clue that Harris liked her. Her stomach squeezed as she felt his warm breath only inches from hers, and she tried to force her brain to think clearly. It refused, clouding her rational thoughts as it filled with wanting to be closer to Harris, to his warm, scented skin and his lips, close enough for her to brush with her own. Voice huskier than she had meant it to be, Freda whispered, “Er…thank you, Harris.” She wasn’t sure if she was misreading his closeness, or that his words had been something of a backward compliment. Is it just me? Did he mean it as a compliment? Or was he just being nice?

  Seconds ticked by as Freda and Harris hovered in front of one another, and Freda’s skin prickled against the heat surrounding them despite the window’s draught. Her heart pounded like a hammer against her ribs. She looked up at the hungry gaze on his face, his lips so temptingly close that she almost convinced herself she should stand on tip-toe and sink into them. Then Harris broke the spell, clearing his throat again awkwardly, taking a step back and rubbing a hand over his hair. “I suppose we should get back to bed. We’ll need sleep for tomorrow.”

  Freda’s body cooled as the space around her did the same, emptied of Harris’ presence. The sensation was jarring, and she knitted her brows for a moment, unknowing whether she felt relieved or disappointed. Her arms felt icy as she once again noticed the draught, and she hugged them around herself. “Yes, of course. Goodnight, Harris.”

  Harris gazed back at her for a moment, giving a small smile as if apologising, before sinking into his bed and turning over to face the wall. Freda did the same, her mattress objecting heavily as she tried to make herself comfortable. Everything felt lumpy and hard now, and she couldn’t clear her racing mind of thoughts as she pummelled the pillow into shape, Harris’ steady breathing drifting over to her from the other side of the room. What just happened? Freda twisted over with a groan, the sheets wrapping around her legs as she stared up at the cracked ceiling.